Leap Before You Look
by acertainzest
Summary: TFLN prompt: "Just calling to thank you for not dying. I love you." An alternate ending for 4x21 "Headhunters."


_A/N: Here I am again with yet another fic based on a textsfromlastnight prompt. As usual, credit, or blame, is due to the motley crew on Twitter - especially Lindsey in this particular case. The TFLN that prompted this story was: "Just calling to thank you for not dying. I love you." At Lindsey's suggestion, this is set at the end of episode 4x21, "Headhunters." I hope you enjoy it..._

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When Beckett turns away from the departing mobster and his lawyer, she finds Castle doubled over, clutching his stomach, his face tense with pain, and she can only surmise that something unsavory has happened between him and Detective Slaughter... again.

She doesn't want to know. She doesn't want to _care_ , so she hardens her heart against it, pretends not to notice how Castle is struggling to breathe evenly.

Slaughter makes a lewd suggestion, which is so trite she could almost laugh, except that she won't give him the satisfaction. She brushes him off and he leaves, finally. There's one cause for relief at least.

But now she's alone with Castle, looking down at him as he gazes up at her, his hands braced on his knees, his forehead creased, his eyes earnest as he murmurs his thanks.

"No problem, Castle, it's what partners are supposed to do." And she walks away, hearing her own words echo in her head, knowing that they sounded just a little harsher than she intended, just a little more pointed.

She didn't mean it that way. Well... mostly not, at least. She _is_ angry at him, though.

She sits at her desk, pretending that she isn't tracking his movement toward the elevator in her peripheral vision, and she thinks about why she's angry.

Realization comes slowly, reluctantly, and she drops her chin toward her chest, one hand coming up to rub her forehead as she grimaces.

She's not really angry with Castle. It's not anger that she feels, at all.

She's hurt, and despairing. She's aching all over, through and through, with the fear that she might have missed her chance, waited too long. She feels battered and bruised by all the ways he has been pulling back, distancing himself from her. The words "fun and uncomplicated" keep tumbling through her head, taunting her with the devastating weight of her emotional scars.

She hears Lanie in her head too: _The guy is crazy about you. And despite your little act, you're crazy about him._ A mere week ago, Lanie had her on the brink of convinced - had talked her right up to the edge of the cliff, ready to jump. Ready to tell Castle how she really feels about him. And then the flight attendant.

And then Slaughter, and oh god, the look on Castle's face when he realized, way too late, that he was in over his head. She has only heard the outline of all the danger that Slaughter got Castle into, in just a few short days, but even just that makes her chest tighten with dismay. God, if nothing else, she needs Castle to stay close so she can keep her eye on him, keep him safe. What if Slaughter really had gotten him killed, and she still hasn't managed to tell him-

The thought has her gasping for breath, brain buzzing, light-headed, and she can feel the panic attack licking at the edges of her consciousness. She takes a moment to do the deep breathing exercise that Dr. Burke taught her, to calm her body and mind, and then her hand is clenched around her phone and dialing before she can let herself second-guess it. He can't have gotten far.

In fact, she can just see the elevator door closing around him as she listens to the ringing, and then his voice, deep and rich, soothing her in ways she'll never be able to express. "Beckett?" he says, a touch of confusion, a touch of humor. "What's up?"

"Hey, Castle," she breathes, teetering on the edge of that cliff. "I, um, listen, I was just calling to say thank you for not dying."

He huffs, more surprise than amusement, and pauses briefly before replying, "Well, I didn't really have much to do with it."

"I know, but I just..." Words, ever treacherous, fail her again. "Um, try not to die tomorrow either, okay?"

"Yeah. Sure," he agrees, and even through the phone she can hear the effort it takes him to keep the words light. So much weariness behind them. "Okay, so, until tomorrow, Detective?"

Her smile comes unbidden at the familiar words, and it's now or never: this is the moment, this is the very edge of the cliff, this is the vast open drop below.

"Good night," she says. "I love you." And she hangs up.

Her breathing is harsh in her throat; the scar between her breasts is throbbing, or maybe it's the hammering of her heart, battering against the cage of her ribs. That was the leap, and this is the abyss, the endless free-fall into the unknown. These are the first pounding heartbeats of the rest of her life.

When her phone rings again it must be Castle, it has to be Castle, and her palms are already damp, but she glances at the caller ID and it's not Castle. It's the desk sergeant downstairs, at the precinct entrance.

"Simmons?" she queries into the phone, surprised.

"Hey, Beckett," the older man says easily. "You done with Castle for today, or what?" A light but noticeable touch of amusement in his tone. She's thoroughly confused.

"Uh... yeah?" she replies hesitantly. "He just left. Why?"

"Just, he could maybe use an ice pack. Bumped his head."

"What?" she exclaims, blinking in shock. "What happened?"

"Beats me. He just came outta the elevator, staring at his phone, walked into a pillar." Simmons chuckles softly. "You wanna come get him or what?"

She huffs an explosive sigh, feeling simultaneously guilty, amused, exasperated. This is all her fault, of course. "I... yeah. Okay. I'll be down in a minute."

She grabs her purse, gets an ice pack from the break room fridge, and takes the stairs, impatient. The lobby is quiet, mostly empty at this hour, and there's Castle, leaning against Simmons's high desk, looking embarrassed.

"I'm fine, really," she hears him say as she emerges from the stairwell. "Just stunned me for a minute, but it's all good."

"Could be a concussion," Simmons replies cheerfully, but then Beckett is striding across the lobby and Castle straightens up, turning, as if he recognized the particular rap of her heels on the floor.

He probably did. He knows her that well.

"Beckett?" he questions, surprised. A dozen different emotions seem to flicker across his face, and she can't meet his eyes, focusing instead on the bruise marring his forehead. It's already beginning to swell.

"Castle, come on, let's get some ice on that," she murmurs, reaching to take his elbow, steering him back toward the elevator.

But he balks, shaking off her hand and gripping her arm instead, tugging her toward the door she just came out of. Before she knows it, they're in the stairwell, and his hands are rough on her shoulders, shoving her against the wall.

"What the hell, Kate?" he growls, the k and the t of her name explosive in the echoing cinderblock space. She shivers involuntarily at the sound of her name, at the feel of his body so close, the rumble of his voice vibrating in his chest.

"Didn't I _just_ get through telling you not to hurt yourself?" she chides, lifting the ice pack and pressing it against his forehead. He flinches and hisses softly at the cold.

"Yeah, you did," he agrees, his eyes narrowed, face set in hard lines. "You also just got through saying that you lo-"

"I know what I said," she murmurs, and she can almost hear the wind whistling past her ears as she tumbles, falls, endlessly off the cliff. She forces herself to look Castle in the eye. "I know what _you_ said," she adds, because what the hell, she's already plummeting.

She watches as the gears turn behind his still-narrowed eyes. The muscle in his jaw is twitching slightly with how hard he's clenching it. She thinks he'll become even angrier as her words sink in, but slowly she sees the tension easing up, his expression softening into something less anguished, more puzzled.

"Did I jump to the wrong conclusion?" he asks, almost to himself. Beckett feels her forehead creasing again, his reaction entirely confounding her.

"I don't know what you mean," she says, shifting slightly against the wall. She's acutely conscious of the cold stone at her back, the hard warm lines of Castle's body so close to hers, the biting chill of the ice pack in her hand, the scorching grip of his hands wrapped around her biceps so tightly it's almost painful. "Castle," she pleads, still falling, still falling, with no idea what to say next.

"I thought..." he says, and he's clearly still trying to work something out, his brain cranking over whatever it is. She thinks that maybe if she stopped this endless free-fall for a moment and applied her detective skills to it, she could probably figure it out for herself; but suddenly she finds herself impatient. Suddenly she feels like she has been plummeting off this cliff for four years and it's _enough_ already.

Suddenly she can't wait another moment to taste what she has been waiting for, falling for.

She kisses him.

The ice pack slips from heedless fingers and hits the floor with a wet thud that barely registers in her awareness. Kate Beckett is no longer falling off the cliff. Now she's soaring, flying, spreading her wings to catch the air currents and zoom skyward. Because he's kissing her back.

His mouth is hot and passionate on hers, a groan rumbling in his throat as he clutches at her, his hands on her back pulling her closer. Her own hands are chilled from the ice pack but gripping him no less tightly, and she can't restrain an almost desperate moan at the feel of his body against hers.

She teases at his lips with the tip of her tongue until they part, and then it's all just hot and slippery and bordering on frantic as they press each other closer, closer, as if they mutually yearn to sink into each other and never come back out.

The cliff and its terrifying drop are far behind, a distant memory. She's above the clouds now, almost weightless.

Almost breathless too, and so they have to stop, their mouths parting reluctantly, the cavernous space of the stairwell reflecting their panting gasps back into their ears as they stare at each other.

"Kate," Castle says, his voice rough, and he interrupts himself to kiss her again briefly, a quick dizzying sweep of his tongue, and then, still hoarse, "we need to talk."

Oh. Well... "Yeah," she agrees reluctantly, though talking is just what she doesn't want to do right now. Not when he's pressed up against her like this, and all she can think about is how much more of him she wants to taste, how badly she wants to be somewhere else with him - somewhere private without so much clothing between them.

But he's right, of course: they should talk first. Whatever he was trying to figure out just now, they should solve it together, and talk it out, and then-

"Yeah, let's talk," she sighs, forcing herself to pull back, breaking Castle's hold, removing her hands from him at the same time. He acquiesces, lets her go, takes a half-step backward of his own, though his eyes are still devouring her.

"Remy's?" he says, lifting a hand again to brush a strand of hair off her cheek, a tender gesture that sends shockingly intense tingles racing down her spine.

She breathes carefully, trying to calm her pounding pulse, and nods. Remy's isn't somewhere private, which means it's probably a wiser idea than either of their homes. "Okay."

When they emerge from the stairwell a few moments later, they're not touching. Their expressions are neutral, and Castle is holding the ice pack to his forehead. They nod to Simmons on their way past his desk.

"Night," Beckett says politely, and "See you tomorrow," Castle adds.

"Goodnight," Simmons says cheerfully. "Better keep an eye on him, Beckett. That could be a concussion, ya know."

"I think he's saying I need my head examined," Castle jokes, pretending to be affronted, and Simmons chuckles good-naturedly.

"You said it, Castle, not me."

"Not to worry," Beckett says, and though her lips are smiling at Simmons, her eyes smile for Castle alone. "He won't be banging into any more walls."

Castle nods solemnly, and she can see how hard he's fighting to keep from breaking out into a wide grin. "No more walls," he repeats.

"Good plan," Simmons's voice follows them out the door, almost unnoticed.

Beckett isn't falling any more, isn't flying any more. Now she's simply walking down the sidewalk with Castle by her side, and all's right with the world.


End file.
